White Blank Page
by PotterforPrimeMinister
Summary: When Gabriel Enjolras, the brilliant but reclusive author of smash-hit novel 'Les Amis de l'ABC' meets fiery English Literature student Eponine Jondrette at one of his book signings, sparks are sure to fly. Modern AU, E/E, M/C, J/M
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, everybody! This is my first ever fanfic, which I'm dead excited about, and it's a modern AU based on the premise that Enjolras, Éponine and all of Les Amis live in Scotland, and Éponine and Enjolras both meet each other at one of Enjolras' book signings. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any rights to either the stage, page or screen productions of 'Les Miserables.'**

**XXXXX**

_"Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with_

_you for months after you've finished, just to stay near it"_

_- Markus Zusak_

**XXXXX**

Éponine and Musichetta were standing in line with around thirty other people in their local bookstore, each of them clutching a copy of the novel _"Les Amis de L'ABC" _in their hands. The author of the novel, notoriously reclusive Gabriel Enjolras, was holding one of his rare book signings for only a small gathering of people, with all proceeds made from the sales of his books going to UNICEF.

"I can't believe we get to meet the author!" Musichetta exclaimed, bouncing up and down on her heels in excitement.

"I know you're looking forward to this, 'Chetta, but do try to remember that we're in a library." Éponine said dryly, although she herself could not fight the growing sense of anticipation that was creeping up on her.

It was almost unheard of for Gabriel Enjolras to appear publicly; this was only his second book signing for the three or so novels he had published, and the tickets that had gone on sale on his website had sold out within minutes. Thankfully, one of Musichetta's friends' boyfriend knew a guy who supplied them with tickets for minimal cost, although using dubious methods.

Billed as 'the new Hilary Mantel,' Enjolras' first novel had already won the Man Booker prize, with '_Les Amis_' looking to bag him a second award. The historical accuracy of his novels, all of which were set in nineteenth century France, had both readers and critics exclaiming in delight at how well the young author had managed to convey such extensive and deep emotion in his writing, whilst keeping it successfully period-accurate.

The tales he wove were rich and colourful, and all of his characters were fully-dimensional, with flaws and hopes and dreams, just like any person around today, which was precisely what made his books so appealing. '_Les Amis' _told the story of a group of ten young men plotting a rebellion against King Louis-Philippe's July Monarchy in the 1830s, detailing the two years preceding the June Rebellion in which all members of the group, bar one, were killed.

The novel had received excellent reviews and had been loved by the public, so much so that there was already talk of a movie deal, which would mean that _'Les Amis' _would have one of the quickest book-to-movie adaptations ever recorded, especially for such a young author.

Éponine had read and loved all of Enjolras' previous works, and as soon as _'Les Amis' _had come out in bookstores, she had been off like a rocket, running to the nearest Waterstones and buying it immediately. Once she had devoured the novel in a little under two days - which was no small feat, considering the length of the massive tome - she had quickly passed it on to Musichetta, who read it just as fast and adored it just as much as Éponine did. The two girls had gone to their friend Cosette in a fit of excitement, begging her to read the book, and once she began to read it, she had become as big a fan as the others were.

The sole reason for Cosette not being at the signing was that it was her and her boyfriend Marius' four-year anniversary, and they had planned a romantic weekend away, to Éponine's slight displeasure. She never had entirely got over her lingering feelings for Marius, left from her first year at University, where he had been generous enough to show her round - only to meet Cosette approximately three hours later.

Still, she tried her hardest to be happy for the couple, as they were both her best friends, and being together for four years was no small achievement, especially at their young age, being only twenty-two and twenty-three respectively. Cosette had even confided in Éponine and Musichetta that they had talked about marriage, and whilst at the time it had felt as if a dagger was being plunged into her chest, Éponine knew in her heart that her friends were soulmates, meant to be together until they died.

Plus, the knowledge that Marius would never leave Cosette for her had quickly help Éponine squash her feelings, and if they weren't completely gone, they had at least greatly diminished in strength, leaving her with mostly positive feelings about Marius and Cosette's relationship.

**XXXXX**

"Next up, please," called a tall, lanky man with sandy blond hair and glasses. He had been hovering over Enjolras' shoulder, speaking to him quietly throughout the signing, and seemed to be the person in charge here - the manager of the bookshop, perhaps. He and Enjolras seemed to have a pre-existing, easy friendship, though, from what Éponine could see if she peered over the heads of people in front of her - she was tall, but not _that _tall - and so she wondered aloud if they were possibly already acquainted with each other.

"God only knows, Ép," said Musichetta, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. "I'm sure you can ask if it means that much to you - we're just after that guy, the one with the flowers in his pleat, see?"

Éponine could tell exactly who Musichetta meant. The guy in front of them was on the small side, wiry, and peculiarly dressed, wearing violet jeans, an orange jumper and lime-green Doc Martens. He completed this fetching ensemble with a bright red and white spotted beanie crammed tightly on top of his auburn curls, and seemed quite unconcerned with the strange looks he was garnering.

"Well, at least he's self-confident," Éponine remarked snidely, smirking before she was lightly slapped on the arm by an irate Musichetta.

"Don't be horrible, you old cow. At least he's unashamed about wearing what he likes, the dear."

Musichetta was a better person than Éponine by far, she thought to herself, although she did object slightly to being called an old cow, she was younger than Musichetta was, for god sakes! (Only by a few months, but those months made all the difference.) Still, she knew that her friend meant well, and only wanted to stop her from coming off as a stuck-up bitch in public - at home, in the flat they shared, was another matter.

"You girls do know I can hear you, right?"

Groaning inwardly, Éponine turned around to find herself facing red-beanie-guy, as she had dubbed him, only to find that instead of the angry expression she was expecting, the young man seemed quite pleased that his outfit had been a topic of their conversation, a wide, easy grin spreading across his face.

Batting away their hurried apologies with a wave of his hand, he continued, "It's really not a big deal. I get comments made about my clothes all the time; and they aren't normally as kind as yours were. I'm Jean Prouvaire, by the way, although my friends call me Jehan, so whichever suits."

"I'm Musichetta Laurent, and this _lovely _young lady here is Éponine Jondrette, who uses sarcasm as a method of defence against actual human emotions." Musichetta was undeterred by Éponine's sharp elbow to her ribs, and continued to smile brightly at Jehan, waiting for his reply.

"Éponine? As in _Éponine et Sabinus?_" In reply to her muttered yes, Jehan gently took both of Éponine and Musichetta's hands in his own, and kissed both of their knuckles fleetingly. "_Echanté, Mesdemoiselles._"

Musichetta giggled rather girlishly, unused to being greeted this courteously, and blushed a fetching pink that enhanced her naturally pretty face. After floundering for a few seconds, she quickly recovered her more nonchalant composure. "If you don't mind my asking, where did you get your Docs, Jehan? I'd love a pair like them but I've never seen anything close."

Musichetta herself had a rather eclectic sense of style, choosing combinations of clothes that should look stupid and instead looked like they had stepped right off the catwalk. In fact, clichéd as it was, Éponine had a feeling that Musichetta would look good in a binbag.

Jehan laughed good-naturedly, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and tucking it up into his beanie. "It's funny you should ask that, actually. I spray-painted them green myself, because I couldn't find the right shade I wanted, but I had to use a mixture of three different-"

Here, Éponine began to tune him out, blanking Musichetta's nodding as the two of them blathered on about a subject Éponine didn't really care much for. Sure, loving fashion was all very well and good if you were well off enough to feed your obsession, but when it was a struggle to manage even one meal a day then you found yourself more preoccupied with things other than the latest trends.

That isn't to say that Éponine didn't care about her clothes or appearance, just that she thought it was easier to quickly pull out jeans and a top, have a quick shower and apply basic makeup than it was to spend hours of her day getting ready, picking an outfit the night before and going to a lot of effort with her hair and makeup - which would most likely get ruined fairly quickly, in between lectures, shifts at the University café where she worked, and ferrying Gavroche about at weekends, when she got to see him without his adoptive parents around - not that Susan and Graham weren't nice enough, just that they didn't necessarily think that Éponine's choice of study - English Literature - would ever provide a viable field of work, and so didn't want that to "negatively influence Gavroche's schoolwork."

It was easy for them to say. Graham was a high-flying lawyer, earning hundreds-of-thousands a year, making it easy for Sue to be a stay-at-home mum to Katy and Daniel - their own, older children - along with Gavroche, when he went to stay with them.

They would never know what it was like to go hungry so your younger brother could eat, would never have to hold their little sister's hand as she died in the hospital, prompting Social Service to take a visit round the Thènardier house and finding it riddled with disease and dirt; an unsafe environment for any child. How this led to her and Gavroche being shoved into the System - watching as Gavroche was taken in by the first family he met, being an adorable seven-year-old, whilst surly, sixteen year old Éponine, with smudged eyeliner and a tough leather jacket was shunted round from pillar to post for two years, until she turned eighteen and fled to the other side of the country, making a new name for herself with the surname Jondrette, building a new and stable future that she had never even dreamed of before.

Even four years after arriving at University and making fantastic, excellent friends, Éponine still couldn't believe what she had done for herself: getting a job, a flat, three amazing friends that would do anything for her, and vice versa. She still woke up screaming for Azelma sometimes, and had to pinch herself to remember that her sister was dead and had been for close to ten years.

**XXXXX**

Shaking herself out of her horrible daydream, Éponine noticed that the line for the book signing had considerably shortened, and that only three people remained between her, Musichetta and Enjolras: Jehan, an older lady with grey frizzy hair, and another, younger boy, who couldn't have been more than fifteen, and looked visibly nervous at the idea of meeting a man who was more than likely his idol. The poor boy was shaking like a leaf, and reminded Éponine so viscerally of a younger Gavroche that she couldn't help but go over to him.

"Hey, you ok? You look quite worried, is everything alright?" she asked quietly, not wanting to embarrass the boy in front of everyone.

"M'fine," the boy mumbled, blushing red to the tips of his ears. "Just excited, s'all."

He shrugged his shoulders expressively and shuffled slightly to the left, which Éponine took as her queue to take her leave. She knew when she wasn't wanted, and if he said didn't need anything from her, then there wasn't much she could do for the boy. But really, excited her arse. The teenager looked as if he was about to faint, just collapse on the ground in a heap of scrawny bones and fabric.

Thankfully, the young boy was spared the indignity of fainting by the sandy haired man waving him forward in order for his book to be signed. As Éponine watched, crouching slightly behind the woman in front of her so as not to be seen spying, she absentmindedly noted that Jehan and Musichetta were still havering on about Jehan's Doc Martens. Realising that there was only the grey haired woman before it was Jehan's turn to have his book signed, she quickly turned and jumped into their conversation.

"Hey, I hate to interrupt this _thrilling _tale - I'm quite sure that the story of Jehan's shoes is ordinarily something I would be bereft to miss, but since it's practically his turn for the signing, 'Chetta, I think it would only be polite to let him go." As she said this, Éponine violently tugged on Musichetta's arm, nearly unbalancing her friend.

"Alright, alright, calm down!" Musichetta cried, pulling her arm out of Éponine's grip. "That was bloody sore, you bitch - and if you left a mark I _will _kill you. Jehan'd testify in my defence, wouldn't you, dear?"

In response to Musichetta's demand of his unwavering support for her honour as a non-murderer, Jehan mumbled something unintelligible, and was saved from having to answer by the sandy haired man calling for the next customer.

Éponine thought to herself that perhaps this man was an unwitting superhero; he did seem to be saving an awful lot of lives today, presumably without knowledge of that fact.

As she was musing to herself about the possibilities of the man being Clark Kent or some other comic-book character with a double identity, Éponine noticed Jehan beginning to sidle out of her line of vision, creeping slowly towards the table at which Enjolras was sitting. His attempt to escape Musichetta's as-of-yet unleashed wrath was only foiled by the fact that the gray haired woman from before was taking an inordinately long time to put her copy of _'Les Amis'_ back in her bag.

Still, as soon as the woman had finished, Jehan leapt forward and threw his book down on the small table that Enjolras was sitting at. This obviously prompted to him to look up, and Éponine was momentarily taken aback. There was no author's biography in the backs of any of Enjolras' novels, and so all the information that Éponine knew - his age (twenty-four, only two years older than her), his nationality (Scottish-French, also like her), and other titbits - had all been gleaned from extensive internet research, or, as Musichetta called it, stalking.

Nowhere had she seen a picture of him. Obviously, from standing in line for an hour waiting to meet him, she had gotten brief glimpses of Enjolras; a shock of blond curls, piercing blue eyes; but none of her sideways-glances had done the man any justice.

He was better looking than any human she had ever seen. It was remarkably unfair, really, she thought, for one guy to be that handsome. Even the shocked expression spread over his face had no effect on his-

Quickly doing a fast double-take, Éponine tried to subtly study Enjolras. She realised that he did indeed look flabbergasted, staring at Jehan and looking extraordinarily bewildered.

"Jehan?" Enjolras asked incredulously, running a hand through his hair. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Wait, you two _know _one another?" Musichetta cried, looking just as surprised as Éponine felt. "Why would you be at a book signing for somebody you already know?"

"Exactly," said Enjolras emphatically. He really did have a nice voice, Éponine reflected. It was nicely pitched for reading aloud - which was fitting, obviously, and the warm tone of his speech, coupled with his slight accent, made him incredibly nice to listen to. Shaking herself back to the present, she too joined in with Jehan's interrogation.

"Yeah, Jehan. If you already know Mr Enjolras, why not get your book signed somewhere easier? Wouldn't it be a lot less hassle?" She was overwhelmingly curious as to why Jehan would prefer to stand in line than to get his book signed elsewhere, if he presumably knew Enjolras well enough to be on a first name basis.

"It's just the _atmosphere _of a book signing that's so enjoyable, y'know? Everybody else there wants to meet the author just as much as you do, and there's the possibility of making friends like you two," Jehan turned to Musichetta and Éponine. "It's just so much more fun than cornering you in the backroom of _La Musian, _Enjolras," he added sheepishly, finishing off his explanation.

"But still, how could you be bothered?" Éponine asked. She knew herself that there was no way she would ever voluntarily queue for hours to meet a guy she was already acquainted with, and even though she could understand some parts of Jehan's explanation, she was still left befuddled.

"I think what everybody means, Jehan," interjected the sandy haired man, "Is that we're all just quite confused as to your motives in coming and waiting in line when, as you very well know, we live two-doors-down from you and Courfeyrac!"

"_Thank _you, Combeferre, that's exactly what I meant," said Enjolras tersely, almost glaring up at Jehan with a look of badly-concealed confusion spread across his face. To Éponine, it seemed that he was overwhelmed by the fact that people, even those he was already familiar with, were such fans of his work that they would pay good money to meet him - even though Éponine was sure that Enjolras was the person behind the plan of sending all money raised by the signing to charity.

It was clear to Éponine that all matters of Jehan's appearance at the signing aside, it was looking increasingly unlikely that her and Musichetta would be able to have their copies of _'Les Amis' _signed unless they made themselves known, and damn it, she had not queued for three hours just to be turned away at the last hurdle. Turning to Musichetta, she quietly motioned that the other girl should move closer to her, and, more importantly, out of the hearing range of the three men still talking amongst themselves.

"What, Ép?" Musichetta hissed, eyeing Jehan and Enjolras' conversation exasperatedly. She too had understood the probability of being sent away from the shop empty-handed, and, like Éponine, her friend was determined to not go down without a fight.

"We need to say something to them," Éponine replied quietly. "If we just sit here silently, then there's no way we'll ever get noticed by those three."

"D'you think I don't understand that? What would you have me do, anyway? Dance naked in front of them? 'Cause that would _certainly _get their attention!"

"Oh my God, 'Chetta, calm down!" Éponine cried, forgetting everything about being quiet. "Of course I didn't mean for you to give them a bloody _peep show,_ for Christ sakes - this is my favourite bookshop, and I'd quite like to still be able to-"

_"Ahem."_

Blushing furiously, Musichetta and Éponine both promptly swivelled round to face the three men, focusing on the extremely tall and lanky one, Combeferre, who had interrupted them. Jehan and Combeferre both looked highly amused at the situation, and even Enjolras had a hint of a smile on his face.

Éponine groaned and threw her hands up to cover her face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Sneaking a glance at Musichetta through the gaps in her fingers, she could see that her friend looked the same way - the bright red blush spread across her face was more than a good indicator of how Musichetta felt about the situation. Éponine could definitely understand why she was so embarrassed, the poor girl had only gone and threatened to give her favourite author a very _special _token of her appreciation.

"I want to scream," whispered Musichetta, still staring at the three men like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. "I actually want to scream my head off, and then preferably run as far away as possible, and never ever show my face here again. I have never been so embarrassed in my entire twenty-three years of existence."

"I don't think I'd go that far, 'Chetta, but I definitely empathise."

"Well" said Enjolras, "Whilst I hate to interrupt this little _tête-à-tête_ you two have got going on, we all really have to be going, so, if you would excuse us-"

He never got to finish his sentence. Instead, Musichetta, still bright red from earlier, whirled round to face him - her hair smacked Éponine in the face as she did so, and Éponine was left with the unpleasant task of detangling her friend's curly hair from her lip gloss - and advanced upon Enjolras with barely-concealed fury.

"Excuse _me, _Mister, but Éponine and I have been queuing in this stiflingly hot bookshop for nigh on _four-bloody-hours, _surrounded by all sorts of weirdoes - not you, of course, Jehan - and if you think for _one second _that I'm leaving here without getting this book signed by your sorry _arse, _then you have another thing coming, my friend!"

Enjolras blinked. Behind him, Éponine could see that Jehan and Combeferre were barely able to hold in their sniggering. She could see the funny side, admittedly, but she refrained from laughing on the grounds that she was on Musichetta's side by default.

"My apologies, Miss," Enjolras replied stiffly, briefly turning round to glare at his companions. "I did not intend to ignore you, or your friend. I'll sign your books now, if you're agreeable?"

Even though Éponine knew that Enjolras was more Scottish than French, she could still hear a distinctive lilt in his voice when he asked a question - _Although, _she reflected, _it could just be that I'm remembering Papa's voice from so long ago. _Thoughts of her father were normally pushed back into the furthest recesses of her mind, buried along with memories of family holiday's visiting her paternal grandparents in Paris and spending days browsing the family trees with her mother.

She found it was better to forget than to look back on those days with rose-tinted glasses.

"I would be perfectly happy to get my book signed, what about you, Ép?" Musichetta asked, more politely than she would have normally; perhaps she was aware that she had probably pissed off Enjolras a bit.

Musichetta's voice jolted Éponine out of her memories, and she bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds great. You can go first though, 'Chetta."

Musichetta gave her a swift smile in reply and fished her copy of _'Les Amis' _out of her bag, where she had stowed it after it became clear that her and Éponine would be waiting longer than they had anticipated.

"Thank you," Enjolras said, taking out his pen as Musichetta put her much-loved and battered copy of the book down on the table. "Do you have anything in particular you would like written inside, or..."

"Oh, no," Musichetta said quickly. "Just my name is fine - just Musichetta."

"And how would you spell that, if you don't mind my asking?" Enjolras seemed genuinely remorseful that he couldn't spell Musichetta's name right first try, which Éponine couldn't help thinking was awfully cute.

"Oh, it's M-U-S-I..."

Éponine quickly tuned her friend out for a moment, losing herself looking around the shop. She was brought back to earth by Musichetta sharply elbowing her in the ribs, and as she jumped in pain she threw her book down on the table, wincing at the force - her copy of _'Les Amis' _was even more roughed-up than Musichetta's, and it looked as if too much force could make it fall apart at the seams.

"I suppose you'll just want your name inside as well?" Enjolras asked, looking up at Éponine with steely-blue eyes. His gaze seemed to go right through her, and Éponine felt a sudden hot flush of shame at the worn state of her clothes and book, which seemed ten times worse in comparison with Enjolras' immaculate outfit, complete with the red, blue and white cockade that so many of his characters wore.

"Yes, please - it's Éponine, Éponine Jondrette - the 'E' has an accent, though-"

"I know how to spell it," Enjolras interrupted. "Like in _'Éponine et Sabinus,' _yeah?"

In response to her mumbled reply in the positive, Enjolras began to sign Éponine's book. He was interrupted, however, by Combeferre and Jehan leaning forward and simultaneously inserting themselves into the conversation.

"Sorry," Combeferre said. "It's just... You said your surname was Jondrette, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Éponine replied, feeling a peculiar mix of annoyance, bewilderment, and wonder - would her book ever actually get signed? "But I don't see how that has anything to do with-"

"It doesn't have anything to with all this, no," Jehan broke in, gesturing to the whole bookstore with a wide sweep of his hand. "It's just that Courfeyrac - he's one of our best friends - keeps mentioning this guy he knows, Marius Pont-something-or-other, and one day he - Courfeyrac, that is - brought up this amazing story Marius had told him, about one of his girlfriend's friends - we think it might be you - who single-handedly took down a gang of muggers with just a sack of flour."

Éponine stepped back slightly, took one look at Musichetta trying desperately to hold in her giggles, and burst out laughing. Whilst it was true she had had an incident earlier in the year and she was flattered that Marius thought it a good enough story to tell his other friends, there had only been one young boy involved, not a whole gang, and she most certainly had _not _gotten rid of him using _flour, _of all things.

"I mean," she wheezed, still trying to calm her laughter, "If you define one girl hitting a fifteen-year-old repeatedly until he gave me my bag back as 'amazing,' then yes, that was me Marius was talking about. I don't know where you got the flour from, though - please tell me Courfeyrac is prone to fits of exaggeration."

"You, Miss, have just summed up Courfeyrac existence in one short sentence," Enjolras said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Our friend has many talents, and hyperbole, along with horrifically bad puns, are unfortunately some of the few he employs most."

"I'm so telling him you said that," smiled Jehan as he boosted himself up to sit on the table where Enjolras was sitting. "He'll be so annoyed at you, it'll be hilarious."

"In fact," continued Combeferre slyly from behind Enjolras' shoulder, "maybe we should let Éponine and Musichetta come along, meet the rest of us - after all, they did queue for _three hours _to meet you, Gabriel."

"Yeah, and to be honest, I'm kind of regretting it now - will my book ever get signed?" whispered Éponine to Musichetta, careful to keep her voice low so the men wouldn't overhear. She smiled slightly to herself as she watched her friend try to reign in her laughter; of course she didn't regret the wait, but she was a bit impatient.

"I've told you before, _James, _not to call me that," retorted Enjolras sharply. "And I think it's up to Musichetta and Éponine whether or not they're dragged to a meeting - this is the twenty-first century, after all, and we men can't make all the decisions."

With that resounding statement, he emphatically closed the cover of Éponine's now-signed copy of _'Les Amis', _and Éponine swiftly thanked him and dived over to grab her book, stowing it safely in her bag.

"Well, what do you two think?" enquired Jehan. "How would you like to meet the rest of us roughish bunch?" To top off his extravagant air, he made a sweeping bow that was slightly undermined by the fact that he nearly toppled over midway through, and only narrowly escaped losing the beanie perched atop his curls.

He recovered quickly, nonetheless, and soon enough he had righted his precarious position on the table-top; however, Jehan's increased stability meant that Enjolras's view was minimised, and the author had to bear the indignity of sitting at a forty-five degree angle, just to remain visible.

Whilst this was happening, Éponine was too busy quietly sniggering to herself about the whole situation, and therefore missed all of Musichetta's attempts to catch her eye and begin a conversation, which in turn meant that Musichetta took matters into her own hands and decided that yes, she and Éponine would be honoured to meet all of Enjolras, Jehan and Combeferre's other friends. She then proceeded to tell them as much.

"Thank you very much, Jehan. Ép and I would be positively delighted to meet the rest of you - in fact, when's best for you lot? Ép and I aren't ever busy, to be honest."

"Oh, we meet most evenings, Musichetta. Here, give me your phone and I'll send you the address - is next Friday good for you?"

"Hang on, _what?_" interrupted Éponine. "Have I missed something here? Because it seems to me as if you've just roped me into coming with you, 'Chetta, and I definitely don't remember agreeing to that."

"Well, it's not like you wouldn't kill to come anyway, Éponine, so I don't really see what the problem is," Musichetta said icily, and Éponine hurriedly changed her tune, and agreed that she was definitely free the next week.

"Excellent, then," smiled Combeferre, steepling his fingers together under his chin. "We all look forward to seeing you, I'll be sure to tell everyone you're coming."

"Fantastic, I guess we'll see you then," grinned Musichetta, and before she could complain, Éponine found herself being towed out of the bookshop at high speed, completely unable to do anything but think of what the coming Friday would bring.

She also completely missed the glance Enjolras threw after her retreating figure, as he silently contemplated the girl that had wormed her way into every crevice of his life in only three short hours.

**XXXXX**

**A/N 2: I hope you all liked it – it was a little bit longer than I wanted it to be - and although I'm not sure when the next update will be, hopefully it won't be long :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, I'm so sorry guys, I can't believe it's been over a month! I didn't ever want to be one of **_**those**_** authors, but I guess life can just get in the way sometimes (and let's be real I'm a massive procrastinator!). Anyway, thank you for all the lovely reviews/follows/favourites, it really means a lot!**

Also, my headcanon cast is kind of an amalgamation of the current London cast and the 2012 movie cast, although I'm debating Norm Lewis as Javert. My headcanon Musichetta is either a younger Katie McGrath, the actress who played Morgana in Merlin, or Adelaide Kane from Reign, so feel free to pick your favourite!

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own a thing**

**XXXXX**

"_Good books, like good friends, are few and chosen; the more select, the more enjoyable."_

_- Louisa May Alcott_

**XXXXX**

The day before she and Musichetta were due to meet Enjolras, Combeferre and Jehan's friends, Éponine found herself caught, without an umbrella, in one of the all-too-frequent rain showers that Scotland was famous for. She had been coming back from her last lecture of the day when the heavens had opened, drenching everybody and everything, and then the rain had stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving Éponine's hair a frazzled, soaking mess and her mascara smudged all round her eyes.

Needless to say, Éponine wasn't in the best of moods when she finally returned to the small upper-storey flat that she and Musichetta called home. Climbing up four flights of stairs did nothing to ease her temper, either, and the fact that she was creating puddles everywhere she stepped definitely didn't help matters.

As she stormed into the flat, slamming the door behind her, Éponine wanted nothing more than to hop in a scalding hot shower for ten minutes, let the water was away her troubles, and then curl up with a good book. She was thwarted in her plan, however, by Musichetta, who emerged from her bedroom with such a distraught expression on her face that Éponine automatically assumed the worst.

"What is it?" she asked, nervously wringing her hands together. "Has something happened? Is everyone alright?" Éponine knew Musichetta's parents weren't in the best of health, her father especially, and the fact that they lived away up north, in Aberdeen, meant that Musichetta wasn't able to see them nearly as often as she would like to.

"No, no, everyone's fine," Musichetta said, sighing despondently and staring at her feet. "I'm just quite nervous about tomorrow, is all. We know literally nothing about these guys - they could be serial killers for all we know."

"Okay, first of all, have you met Jehan? He's about as likely to be a murderer as Cosette is," Éponine snorted, relieved beyond belief that everything was okay. "And anyway, 'Chetta, the whole point in us going to meet them is so we can learn things about them - and if they do turn out to be murderers, you're the one with the black belt in karate, so I'll leave the self-defence to you."

"I know I'm being a complete idiot, Ép," Musichetta said. "After all, I'm the one who agreed to this whole thing. It'll be fine, completely great, everything will go fantastically, and we'll all become brilliant friends..."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

"Also," Musichetta said, with increasing conviction. "I hardly think that a famous author would be a serial killer on the side - although you never can tell with the French-"

"Hey, watch it!" Éponine cried playfully, glad that her friend had perked up. "Like you said, we'll go and it'll be brilliant; and then we can gloat to Marius and Cosette about how we only went and met Gabriel Enjolras!"

"Oh, they'll be so jealous," smirked Musichetta, sitting up straighter from her perch on their tattered sofa. "It'll be great to rub in their faces - but maybe we could ask Combeferre or Jehan if we could bring them along the next time, if there is one."

Éponine nodded, wondering what Cosette and Marius were doing as she did so. They were away in Paris, where there was only a one hour time difference, so it was likely that they were just getting ready to have dinner; probably in a fancy restaurant chock-full of snobs. She knew that those kind of places weren't exactly the couple's style, but Marius' grandfather was joining them for some of their trip, and so he would be choosing dinner.

Éponine had fortunately only met Marius' haughty grandad once, in her first year of university. Monsieur Gillenormand had invited Éponine and Cosette over for dinner, and during the meal had repeatedly insulted Marius' dead father, Cosette's dead mother, and Éponine's still-very-much-alive-but-vile parents, ending with Cosette leaving the room in a quiet rage, Marius following her and Éponine quickly sneaking out the manor house when the dining room was empty.

Still, she knew that Marius was trying to make amends with one of his only remaining relatives, and that Cosette would be willing to put up with the old man for his sake.

"Yeah," Éponine agreed. "We'll definitely have to ask - although Marius has probably already met them, eh?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten that Combeferre mentioned one of their friends knew him," said Musichetta. "Courfeyrac, was it?" In response to Éponine's nod, she continued, "Well, I think Cosette might have mentioned if she'd met our favourite author, and knowing Marius it's highly likely he's never even told Cosette he knows Enjolras - I love the boy to bits but you know what Marius is like."

Éponine snorted in agreement. She might still have been trying to get rid of the last vestiges of her feelings for Marius, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate just how much of a muppet he could be sometimes_. I remember Cosette telling me that the first time he asked her out, they were in a library and he asked if he could buy her book for her, the wee eejit_, she thought, smiling to herself.

"Well," Éponine said, getting up off the couch and moving to stand in the doorway of her bedroom. "I'm sure Jehan wouldn't mind Marius and Cosette meeting them, we'll just have to ask Cosette when they get back on Sunday. Now, if you don't mind, I'm about to go and have a shower - I've been sitting in these wet clothes for half an hour and if I get pneumonia and die then it's all your fault."

"I'll make sure and give you a lovely eulogy, don't worry!" cried Musichetta sarcastically as Éponine left the room, rolling her eyes fondly.

XXXXX

"Hey, Ép, can you come here a minute?" called Musichetta, rousing Éponine from her position on the sofa. Sighing heavily, she marked the page in her book and got up, huffily stomping the short distance to Musichetta's door.

"What?"

"Um, I was just wondering if you'd decided what you're going to wear tomorrow or not," Musichetta said quickly, eyeing Éponine's stormy expression with a look of trepidation on her face.

Looking around the small room, Éponine wondered why she had even bothered to ask. Clothes and jewellery were strewn about the floor and furniture, and Musichetta was wearing what looked like three different outfits at once, clashing colours, prints and fabrics. She had on a long, flowing tunic-style top, dark denim jeans, a bright cardigan and Converse shoes with the laces undone. _Jesus, _thought Éponine_. She looks as if a teenage girl's wardrobe has just thrown up all over her._

"No," Éponine said, still feeling slightly shocked from the sheer volume of clothes surrounding her, and irritable from being interrupted from her reading. "I was just going to throw on whatever's in my room and clean, but I can see you were planning something different."

"Well, yeah!" Musichetta exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and gesticulating madly. "Of course I was going to plan my outfit; do you know who we're meeting?"

Éponine could see her friend was still worried about the next day, extreme planning was something that both Marius and Musichetta took comfort in, and the more laidback Éponine and Cosette had gradually learned how to calm their friends down.

"'Chetta, hon, in all honesty, I really don't think that very many people will care about what you wear, because statistically, it's probably going to be a group of twenty-something men, and you know you always look lovely in everything, you daft cow."

Musichetta blushed and waved away Éponine's compliment with a flick of her wrist, but in all seriousness, Éponine was frequently jealous of Musichetta's clear skin, glossy dark hair and bright green eyes. Her friend was naturally pretty, average height and with a figure to kill for, and the taller-than-average Éponine, who stood at five-foot-nine in socks, often felt overshadowed by both Cosette and Musichetta, the former of whom reached five-three on a good day.

"What do you think of my green dress, with the leggings over there, that cardi and my brown boots?" questioned Musichetta, breaking Éponine out of her thoughts as she gestured across the room.

"Yeah, yeah" she replied, clearing her throat and absent-mindedly contemplating her own wardrobe; she had just ironed a top that would go well with her good jeans. "Try them on and let's see."

"Ta-da!" cried Musichetta as she spun in a circle, the skirt of her dress flaring out around her.

"That looks great, you look lovely," Éponine said, desperate to get back to her book. She loved her friend, but she could not be bothered sitting around for an hour debating which shoes went with which bag.

"You aren't just saying that because you're bored, are you?" asked Musichetta knowingly. She'd seen the longing glances her friend was sending towards the door, and knew Éponine would murder several people for the chance to get out of her bedroom.

"Noooooo?" tried Éponine, hoping against hope that Musichetta wouldn't be offended if she snuck out the room quietly. She had just reached the climax of her book and was itching to read the rest; she had a sneaking suspicion that the heroine's love interest was not all that he seemed.

"Ép, you can leave if you want to, I'm not holding you captive," Musichetta laughed. "I don't mind if you can't be bothered helping me out - but you do know that I'm getting you ready tomorrow, don't you? I am not letting you show me up, and you never know, one of the guys might be your type - if we judge by Enjolras, Combeferre and Jehan then they're all unfairly good-looking."

"Hmph, maybe," sighed Éponine. It seemed highly unlikely to her - what person in their right mind would pick lanky, average Éponine when Musichetta was single? But still, she couldn't help wondering if Musichetta would be right, maybe she would meet someone.

Also, if she went by Musichetta's theory, some of the men were likely to be alright to look at, and so maybe she would see somebody that would catch her eye. She didn't want to admit it to herself, either, but she had been looking forward to seeing Enjolras again more than she cared to admit. The ten minutes or so she had got to look at him during the signing hadn't been nearly long enough, in her opinion, and she hadn't even got to see one of the most important things about him - his height.

It didn't matter how good-looking the man was, and putting all the likelihood that he wouldn't be interested aside, if Enjolras was a midget, then any and all chances of a relationship were down the drain. Éponine could not be dealing with a man of anything less than six-foot, and her pickiness when it came to height was, in her opinion, one of the worse parts of being a tall girl in Scotland, where all the men were tiny.

Éponine did feel slightly presumptuous, assuming that Enjolras might have a tiny bit of interest in her, seeing as she was literally a complete stranger to him, and the only things he knew were her first name and the fact that she liked his books. Still, she reasoned, with a man that good looking, anybody'd start imagining things - and anyway, he's probably already in a relationship. Besides, I didn't even know what he looked like until a week ago, I can't very well bring out the wedding plans.

"Oi, Ép!" called Musichetta, jolting Éponine out of her contemplative reverie, making her blush furiously and hope against hope that her thoughts weren't visible on her face. "Were you even listening? I've been going on about what colours will suit you best and you've just been zoned out this whole time!"

"No, I've definitely been listening, just maybe not actually taking anything in? I know I'm being horrifically rude, 'Chetta, and I don't need a lecture about it - just go over what you were saying, pretty please?" pouted Éponine, hoping to appeal to Musichetta's better nature and get off with a warning; and maybe if she was lucky, Musichetta would be so busy berating Éponine that she'd forget about her vow to get her ready come tomorrow.

Éponine knew that dressing her up and making her over were Musichetta's strange ways of showing Éponine what she meant to her, almost as if making her friend look her best was Musichetta's way of thanking Éponine for the countless times she had let Musichetta cry on her shoulder; whether it was worries about her parents, a broken heart or money troubles.

Still, Éponine found it hard to accept and allow Musichetta's make-overs. She didn't particularly like the feeling of make-up on her face, and she already felt that she drew unwanted attention because of her height (no matter what Cosette said, Éponine was adamant that five-foot-nine was freakishly tall for a twenty-two year old) and so was always reluctant to wear clothes that might draw attention to her, preferring darker colours like blues and blacks.

That being said though, she had always had a small soft spot for the way that red clothes brought out the auburn hues in her brown hair, and the way the colour made her look healthier, almost.

"Éponine, you know I only want to help, right?" asked Musichetta, coming over to sit beside Éponine and give her a comforting hug. "I know you're convinced that you're some sort of half-human, half-giant hybrid - which is completely ridiculous, I'd actually maim people to be your height - and believe me when I say that you are beautiful and deserve so much better than pining over Marius. We've got to get you all dressed up so you can meet a new man, someone who treats you like you are the best thing in the world."

"Yeah, if men like that actually existed, 'Chetta," said Éponine morosely. All the relationships she'd ever experienced before had been lacklustre and miserable, either consisting of a few dates or a couple of months of non-committal meetings.

The two men who featured most in Éponine's love life had both been found wanting. First, there had been Montparnasse, the guy she'd experienced her first everything with when she still lived in Glasgow, back when she stayed with her parents. Montparnasse had been the textbook definition of a N.E.D, dropping out of school in fourth year to better work for the Patron-Minette, Éponine's father's gang. Despite his less-than-respectable background, sixteen-year-old Éponine still fell hard, convinced that she loved Montparnasse and that he returned her feelings. Of course, as soon as Social Services made an appearance around the Thènardier household, Montparnasse fled, leaving Éponine in the dust as she made her way across the country.

Even after everything, Éponine knew she didn't regret her relationship with Montparnasse. Sure, he might have not always stayed strictly on the legal side of things, but he had treated Éponine well when they were together, as long as she ignored it when he'd go missing for hours at a time, hiding from truant officers or the police.

Adding to that, Montparnasse had been one of the first people Éponine had met after her family moved from Paris to Glasgow when she was nine, and had shown her around the city, telling her where the best bolt-holes were situated and teaching her the more complex language of the inner-city, helping the Thènardiers to blend in more and not stick out as the one family who spoke proper Queen's English. Even ten years later, when Éponine had moved to Edinburgh for university, she still retained the Glaswegian burr, and it was noticeable even now, surrounded as she was by East coast Fifers and Edinburghers.

The other man had of course been Marius Pontmercy. Éponine had met him on her first day of university; he had helped her take her suitcase up several flights of stairs, and as he did so they found out that Éponine was assigned the same halls that Marius had stayed in his first year. Éponine had found herself enraptured by Marius' kindness, it was something she was unused to seeing in men, surrounded as she was by gang members, and Marius' courtesy towards her had left her reeling with pleasant surprise.

Éponine had quickly become smitten, and shadowed Marius for the next few days, slowly but surely working up the courage to ask him if he wanted to go for a drink. She and Marius were in the university library, and whilst Éponine was exploring the stacks of books she decided that that day was the day. She would definitely ask Marius Pontmercy out. Revelling in her new-found courage, she emerged from the aisles, only to see Marius blushing furiously, in conversation with an extremely pretty petite blonde. The girl was gazing up at him in infatuation, simultaneously surveying Marius' entire body with an assessing eye and coyly looking up through her eyelashes; a feat which Éponine would have considered impossible if not for her new knowledge of the "university first-year" she had gained over Fresher's Week.

Éponine had staggered backwards, feeling as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her feet. She recognised the girl Marius was staring at, she knew she had seen her before. Straining her memory, she thought back to her childhood, vaguely remembering a small, blonde thing that used to live with the Thènardiers in Glasgow.

She knew her parents, when they had ran their B & B, had fostered children, although she didn't know how they had ever been approved by Social services. Éponine knew that there had been two small boys that stayed with them for a while during their time in the inn, and she also had recollections of a girl about the same age as her, who was treated as a servant by the Thènardiers, who encouraged Éponine to poke fun at the girl.

The girl from her past and the one that stood before her must be the same, there were too many similarities for her to be anything but. They shared blonde, softly curling hair, wide blue eyes and a small and slender build, as well as a high speaking voice and a gentle manner. The lark from her past had been shy and cowering, however, where this girl stood proudly, with a dancer's poise and self-confidence. Her floral-print dress was clean and well-fitting, a far cry from the tattered clothes she had worn when Éponine knew her, and the wool coat she had on over her outfit was a deep blue, well-made, sturdy, and perfect for keeping out the elements; unlike the shabby leather coat Éponine had worn so often that it was cracking at the seams.

The two girls were, in short, parallel images of the other; each what the other girl could have been, had her circumstances not been altered.

Shell shocked, Éponine had watched as Marius reached and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind the lark's ear, smiling softly as he whispered something to her that made her flush scarlet and grin.

Cosette, for that was the girl's name, had quickly pressed a slip of paper into Marius' hand, before the man Éponine presumed was her father emerged from the classics section of the library, beckoning her to him. Cosette quickly lifted up on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Marius' cheek that left him blushing like a poppy, before making her way over to her father and leaving with her arm tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Marius had rushed back to Éponine, failing to notice the heartbroken expression that flitted across her features for a moment before she quashed her hurt, and began waxing lyrical about Cosette.

He had continued his endless praises of Cosette's character all the way back to Éponine's halls, and Éponine had fought to keep her face calm, struggling to hold back tears sometimes as she came to realisation that Marius would never have been hers, that his heart was never hers to give away. The realisation was bitter one to make, and for a brief second Éponine found herself hating Cosette, wondering what the pretty little blonde girl had done to deserve something that Éponine believed was rightfully hers, someone whom she had thought would always be there for her, and would eventually come to love her as much as she loved him. Her hatred of Cosette, however, soon lessened after Marius and Cosette had been together for several years, when she took a long hard look at her life and realised that Cosette had done nothing which would make her "worthy" of Marius, just like Éponine had never done anything to warrant her treatment form her parents and her years spent trundling around the System like an unwanted suitcase.

Nowadays, Cosette and Éponine were as close as sisters, the result of two years of close proximity – complete with Éponine's thinly concealed dislike for Cosette - culminating in Cosette battering Éponine and Musichetta's door because she and Marius had had a fight and she didn't know where else to go. Éponine had seen how she was shaking like a leaf and close to tears, and had taken pity on the younger girl, inviting her in and listening as Cosette poured her heart out – her worries that Marius was moving too fast, talking about marriage when they had only been together a short amount of time, her fears over her father's ailing health, her panics over her university workload, a part of her training as a primary school teacher.

The two years that followed had been some of the best of Éponine's life: her friendship with Cosette had blossomed, she and Musichetta had begun to rent out their own flat, and she had completed her first two years of her English Literature degree. Her life was at the best point possible, she believed, and the only dark spot on her increasingly brightening horizon were her still-substantial feelings for Marius, feelings that she believed she had nearly quashed.

Sitting on Musichetta's bed, piled under a massive heap of discarded clothes and laughing her head off, Éponine still sometime struggled to connect her life today with the one she had left behind so many years before. As Musichetta shooed her out the room, telling her that she better get her eight hours of beauty sleep before their big day the next day, Éponine truly felt happy, something that had become increasingly more common over the past few years of her life, something that she wouldn't give up for anything. The times she spent with her friends were the best days of her life, days which she knew she would always look back on fondly, no matter what tomorrow or the next day would bring.

**XXXXX**

**Thanks for reading, everybody, and I'd like to apologise again for the time taken to upload this – although, in my defence, a**_** lot**_** has gone on in my life since I published this. It was my 15****th**** birthday at the end of March, and on the 2****nd**** of April my mum and I travelled town from Scotland to London – and I only went and saw les mis live! The cast was fantastic, although it was the understudy Marius, Jonny Purchas, who was really so amazing that I didn't care ;) Carrie and Anton were both amazing too, but I didn't go to stage door, I'm so annoyed!**

**Also, I'm getting braces :/ I just had four teeth taken out, two today actually, so I'm still numb all down one side lol. I'm getting braces on the 15****th**** though, so the next update won't be too long after that, promise!**

**R & R, please! x**


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